


With His Shield, On His Shield

by taichara



Category: WildC.A.T.S.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spartan finds himself weighing his existence, his team, and what his teammates are going to need if they're going to make it against the Cabal.  </p>
<p>Being team leader is a thankless job, but someone has to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With His Shield, On His Shield

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _any, any, the long haul_

In the wee hours of the morning, long before the hint of the crack of dawn, even the Halo Building finally ground down to as close to a halt as the conglomerate ever managed. Which meant, with the human population asleep, Hadrian could try to make up for time lost to mangled bodies and reuploading --

_> > diagnostic check: complete_  
_> >scanning ..._  
_> > primary power check: complete_  
_> > scanning ... _

_That's quite enough, thank you._

The internal digital drone fell silent instantly, and Hadrian heaved a sigh of relief as, reaching for the next dossier on his worktable, he was finally enveloped in something resembling peace and quiet. Of all the nervous tics to develop, he _had_ to come up with that one. The droning was almost more nerve-wracking than the scan itself.

Oh, sure, he was nearly indestructable ... as long as he managed to make a backup echo of himself. But that didn't keep his body -- bodies -- from being shredded and dismembered, riddled with bullets and seared open by lasers, the golden-orange ichor that passed for his blood splattered across the battlefield.

He still remembered every moment, every agonizing wound. Every death. And yet, once in the field, he thought nothing of throwing himself across the firing line --

_It's better for me than the rest of the team. I have a fighting chance, more than they do. I have a chance to come back again; they don't have that luxury._

_Heh. Grifter thinks I do it because I'm programmed to; that Mister Marlowe didn't give me the choice. He can keep thinking that, if it makes him feel better._

Grifter; the team. 'WildC.A.T.s", now, thanks to I/O's need to put a label on every 'incident' they investigated. The now much-abused file folders stacked neatly on the desk detailed that new team of his, stuffed with biographical details (such as they were; he could wish Reno's were more comprehensive, just for a start), battle records, medical records, personal observations, recommendations, training modules ...

_So much to take into account, and half the time they don't want to give me the information I need to keep the team together._

Sighing again -- this time in frustration -- he raked a hand through the bangs falling in his face, pushing them pointlessly back and snorting when the shag fell right back again. Even his hair was working against him tonight, apparently.

_It's just as well I don't need to sleep. This is going to take some time._

Somehow, he needed to weld Marlowe's motley new crew into a working fighting unit. Warblade and Maul, now, he'd mostly gotten into shape; it may have taken dozens of battle simulations, a good handful of extended stays in Halo's med facilities and several patches and replacements on his part, but he'd done it. Those two were as ready as they'd ever be.

_Even if Reno is a powderkeg waiting to go off. I'll need to keep an eye on him._

Then there were Grifter and Zealot. Just the thought of the pair made him mutter darkly under his breath for just a moment; there were too many unknowns, there, too much history that neither of them were sharing. That Zealot clearly knew Marlowe from before -- but couldn't be bothered to elaborate on that past with the amnesiac man -- and Grifter knew far too much about far too many government projects were added complications. But Marlowe, and Void, trusted them.

It was Void's trust, Hadrian had to admit -- if only to himself -- that won him over to the idea. He'd trust Adrianna with anything, and so he'd decided to trust the ones she'd put her own trust in.

_I wonder if I can bait them into training sessions with the excuse of wanting to see just how good they are. I'd love to see that._

He muffled his chuckling at the thought; you never knew who could be listening, after all -- and then his mirth died to a tricked, and his third sigh of this too-brief assessment escaped. Training sessions, indeed. He drummed his fingers on the dossier he'd picked up, stared out the broad expanse of the windows at the night sky, contemplated a brief running of the new body through its paces in the battle simulator ... anything to avoid what that file and its contents meant, right then, right now ...

... No, he was being ridiculous. Worse, he was avoiding dealing with a situation that would threaten the integrity of the team, and the lives of his teammates. Including hers.

With a groan of helpless frustration, Hadrian tossed Priscilla's dossier back onto his desk. Potentially powerful, that she certainly was. Desperately needed if they had any chance to stop the Cabal? Oh, she was definitely that. But Priscilla Kitaen was also lacking in the tiniest iota of combat ability.

A liability in combat. Worse, a helpless and vulnerable target. If he sent her out into the field, she'd be a sitting duck. The thought made him queasy, and he didn't know before that he _could_ feel queasy.

_I wonder, if I found the right combination of chemicals, can I get myself drunk? It certainly sounds appealing right now ..._

If the team was going to survive, everyone needed to be able to pull their weight at all times. That much was obvious. So, then, Ms. Kitaen needed to learn how to fight -- and how to keep herself alive. Preferably without her teammates taking the lessons out of her hide in the process, and the more he cross-referenced his dossiers the more uncertain that looked. 

Well, he'd just have to work out another training module from scratch, then. It wasn't as if he could just throw her up against the battledrones Jeremy and Reno routinely tore apart, after all ...

Once he started making notes, it surprised him how quickly the answer came to him. 

_I'll handle it myself. I know just how much to hold back, and I know when to hold back; I don't know if I can say the same for some of the others._

_I can make this work; I just need a bit more time --_

The fluttering queasiness was easing off, now. That was, he assumed, a good enough sign that he was on the right track. Still, there was not going to be some kind of overnight miracle -- but that didn't matter.

_And if I lose a few more lives in the meantime ... that's what I'm here for._


End file.
